


Not Like We'd Sink Any Farther

by marelicarter (padmefuckingamidala)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Happy Ending, No Details, Past Violence, but it's mostly the scarring that is talked about, it's just alluded to once, just in case though!, tagged rape just in case but it's literally just barely mentioned, there isn't a lot of violence either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-18 21:40:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18126827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padmefuckingamidala/pseuds/marelicarter
Summary: The reader is covered in scars from her time in Hydra captivity. It's the one thing holding her back from making a move on her crush.





	Not Like We'd Sink Any Farther

She’s self conscious about her body in a way that makes intimacy hard. When her shirt rides up, she has to fix it and make sure it covers everything. Her pants must reach her ankles at all times. Her wrists are clear but everything above the elbow is a secret. If she could wear turtlenecks in the middle of June she would, but sadly, it’s a terrible fashion choice so she sticks with scarves.

“We’re taking a vacation,” Nat tells her as they spar in the gym. “Do you own a swimsuit?”

She doges Nat’s punch and straightens back out, arms raised in front of her and hands balled into fists. “No.” She swings her leg but Nat grabs it and pulls her out of balance and to the floor

“You need one.” Nat twists her leg to hold her down. “Three weeks. The Bahamas. Or something. I don’t know, but he has a beautiful beach house and we’re all getting crazy.”

“I don’t do swimsuits,” she gasps. It only takes her three seconds to force her body up and pin Nat to the ground. “But I’ll join. I like a nice saltwater breeze.”

“You sure you don’t want a swimsuit?” Nat asks. “I’m sure Bucky would make a move if he saw what he was missing out on.”

The comment makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Y/N’s hopeless crush on Bucky has not gone unnoticed by Nat and Sam as it did everyone else. Sometimes it’s a mess that can get her in trouble or manipulate her into doing stupid things for them. Last week she made ten dozen cookies for the team because Sam was craving them. (She even called up Mrs. Wilson for the recipe and advice, and that woman was so happy she cried over the phone about ‘Sammy’s new girlfriend’.)

She has her hand pressed lightly against Nat’s neck and her knee to her chest. “That’s very counterproductive,” she says emotionlessly. “The best way to win him over would be to add seventeen sweaters and pants.”

Nat rolls her eyes. How she’s calm with a hand on her throat, Y/N will never know. “You’re too hard on yourself. Plus, you have a great body.”

Great in the aspect of athleticism, yes. She was toned with broad shoulders and a nice figure, strong and fast, the ideal physical health among women, but that didn’t count all the scars she had all over her body. There was one trailing from her collarbone to her belly button from when she was opened to see how well she’d heal, and it was a dark, angry pink in color. Others were just all over her body from other fights and battle-wounds she had obtained, from Hydra missions and Avenger missions alike, that proved to stand the test of time. Another one that bothered her was on the inside of her left leg. It started just below her knee and continued up to her core, a reminder of the time she fought against Brock Rumlow as he held her down to use her as a sex toy. 

“You know what I look like under all these clothes,” she mumbles and pulls her hand away. On her feet in a second, she walks away as Nat pushes herself up and begins to unwrap her hands. “Good match. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You don’t need to walk away from me.”

She can’t bite back the words that build in her throat, either. “You don’t need to force me into a swimsuit, either. Those are for pretty girls and you know it.”

As she walks out she thinks of Bucky. He had been quick to make sure she was welcome here after everything that happened to her. Certain things that were deemed too triggering were locked away and put under passcodes until she felt comfortable to handle. The press was kept at bay, and FRIDAY was told what to say in case of a panic attack. It continues to warm her heart to think of when she found Bucky talking to FRIDAY in the kitchen late one night, talking about different situations and what to do for each. He cares. He’s the sweetest towards her even if he keeps a large distance between them.

“You look like you’re thinking about something intense,” a voice scares her. She turns quickly to see Bucky also heading towards the elevator, keeping himself a few paces behind her. “Sorry,” he says quickly, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay.”

“Done sparring for today?”

She nods and they both enter the elevator as soon as it opens. “Yeah. I pinned her down, I figured if I can pin Natasha then I can handle anyone that comes near me.”

“Sounds wise.” He presses the buttons for her floor, and then his, and moves himself to keep his metal arm away from her. The shame is noticed by her--their mannerisms are practically the same, and his fear of his own arm is how she feels of herself. “Today’s a perfect lazy day, though, isn’t it?”

He’s going to ask her to do something with him. His smiles are polite and inviting, causing her fingers to ball around the hem of her shirt, and she desperately wants to hear every word he has to say. A toothy grin makes her heart skin a beat. He never smiles this much, at least he hasn’t since he was just a kid in Brooklyn with a skinnier Steve. To see him like this makes her heart melt in her chest.

“Perfect,” she echoes back.

“I--”

FRIDAY cuts him off to relay a message. “Sergeant Barnes, Captain Rogers is waiting for you at your door. It’s urgent.”

The smile drops just a tad. “I guess a better lazy day would be tomorrow,” he says to her before the elevator opens on his floor and he makes his way out.

She bites back her disappointment and makes her way to her own room.

The next time the swimsuit ordeal is brought up, Wanda and Nat are waiting for her in the kitchen. She appears in a sweatshirt and leggings with crew socks pulled up over the ankles--an odd outfit choice for summer, but the air conditioning in the tower allows her this freedom. Wanda smiles at her as she passes for the coffee maker. “Hey! How’d you sleep?”

“Perfectly fine,” she answers. “How about you guys?”

“We got up early to do some shopping,” Wanda says. “Wanna see what we got?”

Y/N nods and once she has a cup of coffee in her hands, she leans against the counter and waits. The huge bag at their feet will take more than a few minutes to get through, so she decides she might as well sit down. Something in Nat’s eyes makes her skeptical.

Wanda pulls out countless outfits--shorts, tops, bathing suits, sandals, hats, sunglasses, all things that both her and Natasha picked out for their upcoming vacation. Nat’s clothing was easily distinguishable from Wanda’s, which Y/N finds funny. Darks and neutrals with sophisticated yet sexy vibes were obviously Nat’s. Wanda liked color. She liked wearing different things and her style was all over the place. Everything was cute, and she said so, too. Especially to the last swim suit they pulled out; it was a one piece, yellow with white and black floral all over it. The top half was a halter top that tied around the neck and dipped low between the breasts, backless until it met the bottom half, which looked high waisted with the way it was cut. It was beautiful, fun, even.

“That’s pretty, Wanda! I think you grabbed the wrong size, though. It’s a different number than your other ones. Is that a brand thing?”

Wanda shakes her head and holds it out. “No, actually, I picked it it for you! You’ll look so beautiful in it, I—“

Y/N carefully sets her coffee cup on the counter and stands to her feet. “Nat played a role in this, didn’t she?”

Wanda’s a horrible liar. “No! I thought, well, it's pretty and you needed one for the vacation, right? She didn’t say anything. Nat, not at all, she didn’t even see me buy it.”

Her heart is breaking. Underneath all the clothing her body is a mess and she doesn’t want to show it off. There’s too much happening. She grits her teeth and fights the prickle of tears. “I’m sorry. I don’t want it. Natasha, I want you to stay the hell away from me until you actually learn to listen. Wanda, don’t listen to a thing she says.”

And off she stomps. The elevator opens and she makes her way to step in quickly, frustrated, the tears fighting to come out. She bumps into a body and falls back with a groan. Bucky stands before her; he extends a hand and grins. “Hey, long time no see.”

She allows him to help her up, but once she’s on her feet she crosses her arms around her stomach. “Yeah. How’s your morning so far?”

“Great. Better since I ran into you. I was actually heading out for—“

“Sergeant Barnes,” FRIDAY interrupts once again, “Captain Rogers is requesting you. If you would, please report to meeting room G.”

“Of course,” he says back, hiding the hurt. “Maybe I’ll have to start talking to you through telegrams. I bet FRIDAY can’t interrupt that, can she?”

“Or maybe you should make plans ahead of time,” Y/N teases back. “How’s tomorrow sound?”

“We leave for vacation tomorrow.” He looks at her oddly, smile trading in for a smirk. “Did you forget? Or are you that’s eager to get me alone?”

Blush creeps into her cheeks. “I didn’t know what date was chosen. I guess it’s a good thing FRIDAY stopped our plans, I’ll be packing for a while.”

“Are you excited to swim?” he asks her. “I can’t wait. You got some summer clothes, yeah? I know the AC makes it a bit chilly in here but his beach house is pretty damn hot, you’ll want something lighter than this.”

“I…” The blush deepens. Fuck. It makes it harder for her to flirt when she knows he notices her silly outfits. Life is cruel, almost, and the tears she was fighting threaten to spill over. “I’ll have to dig some out. I’m sure I have them somewhere.”

“Awesome.” He nods in your direction and walks past you. “I’ll see you later, then.”

She’s fucked.

Even as she stands alone in her room, trying on every piece of clothing Wanda “accidentally” bought for her, her skin crawls with self-hatred. The mirror taunts her, holds her captive to her crippling self esteem—she stands in front of it and looks at her body. The first outfit is cute; the shorts are high waisted and hug her ass. Stunning, sexy, even, and she wonders how amazing she’d look if she didn’t have the scars.

Her legs are silky smooth to the touch but god, her heart is beating in her chest at the sight of the scars. They’re all over her. A bralette is the only thing she wears as a top—it’s hot for sure and this outfit would be a dream but her arms are horrible. Her stomach is covered in a huge burn mark—more of Rumlow’s handy work—that spreads up her side and nearly hits her breast. Rumlow took the freedom of a nice body away from her. There’s nothing to love. The bralette is a pale pink that matches her deep scars and she hates that, she fucking hates it.

“You know Bucky has a lot of scars too, right?”

She turns, frightened, to see Steve standing in the doorway. No automated doors or heavily equipped AI’s here. He watches as she picks herself apart and tears herself down further. At the sight of him, she scrambled to cover herself. “Hey! What happened to knocking?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “I knocked three times and I heard a sniffle. I thought you were crying, which…” He trails off as he pulls a tissue from her nightstand. The beach house is simpler by far but still came in handy for the tears and anxiety. “He has a whole ass metal arm. Nothing is going to keep him away from you.”

She scoffs as she blots away her tears. “You act like he loves me.”

“Because he does.” 

She stays quiet, unsure of the legitimacy of it all.

“He won’t shut up about you,” he sighs. “Y/N, he loves you. He’s head over heels. And no matter what you look like because of the pain you went through, he’s still going to look at you the same way. So put on something that won’t give you a heat stroke but won’t make you feel uncomfortable, and get out to the beach, okay?”

She puts on the swimsuit Wanda gave her and oddly enough, confidence is there. Maybe it’s because of Steve’s little intervention. She adds a light, sheer kimono over it as well as a pair of jean shorts and gives a twirl, ignoring her scars the best she can. She feels cute. She feels sexy, for once, because no one is going to look at her like she’s ugly.

But then she gets out there. Wanda and Nat are happy to make space for her and hug her, marveling at her body and eyes lingering. “You look amazing,” Wanda says, practically drooling. “Damn, Y/N! How’s the breeze feel?”

“Pretty good,” she admits. “I guess I just needed a push.”

She looks at Bucky, standing only three feet away from her, and gives a smile. He’s been smiling at her all week and trying to hang out with her, to see more of her, but this time his eyes take in all of her. Every scar, every twist and curve of her body, every burn and scarred patch of skin. No smile spreads over his face this time. Sam says something to him and Steve was making his way over, but it wasn’t enough. The damage was already done, already in action. Bucky pushed past her and off he went, looking like he was going to throw up, but Steve wasn’t fast enough to stop him.

“He’s just probably having a bad day,” Wanda whispers, grabbing her arm. “Don’t pay attention to him, okay?”

But she doesn’t know about the crush Y/N has on Bucky. Nat watches her face crumble in a matter of seconds and shares a glance with Sam, who doesn’t know what to do, either. Sam tells her how nice she looks before excusing himself to chase after him, which, only makes Wanda sigh. “They should have told him beforehand. That was rude.”

“I know what I look like,” Y/N offers sadly, staring out at the blue ocean. “I shouldn’t have come out quite yet. Should’ve tested the waters.”

Nat grabs her arm. “You’re allowed to feel comfortable without the approval of anyone else. Fuck him. If he can’t be mature about it, then it doesn’t matter.”

Except for the fact that it did matter. “I want to go back in the house now,” she mumbles. Her friends let her pull away, exchanging a look, until finally she’s back tracking. She tried so hard to get there, and now it’s just hurting her. Tears fall before she makes it back to her room, but she’s luck enough to keep the sobs down until she’s on the other side of her door. She cranks the air conditioning up and puts on her leggings, her sweatshirt, her long socks, and a scarf for good measure. Never again would she show her ugly side, never again would she try to reach out.

“Y/N?” Steve calls on the other side of the door. “Please come back out. It’s not what you think.”

“Just leave me alone,” she begs. “I don’t wanna ruin anyone else’s vacation. And I certainly don’t want to ruin mine, either.” Her hands are shaking as she grabs the covers and pulls them over her head.

“He didn’t mean to freak you out,” Steve says. “He feels bad about the comment he made. He had no idea you covered up because of that, he just thought you were always cold, and now he feels stupid about what he said at the tower--”

“Please leave me alone,” she cries out, clutching her pillow. “Unless Wanda’s coming in to take her clothes back, I don’t want anyone else to see me.”

Every scar on her body stings under her heavy sweatshirt, and she can feel herself overheating, but it doesn’t shake her enough to make her put on new clothes. Stark eventually overrides the air conditioning; she’s left sweating and sobbing, taking off all her layers until she’s back in her bra and a pair of sleep shorts. She draws the blinds as well as pulls the curtains. The summer clothes get stuffed into a bag and she leaves them outside her door, crying as she pulls the door open, suddenly coming face-to-face with Bucky, who holds a bouquet of flowers in his flesh hand.

“Y/N--”

“Go away--”

His foot wedges between the door and the frame before she can close it. “No, I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t want you to see me without my sweatshirt on.”

With his metal hand, he grabs the bag of summer clothes and pushes himself through the door, letting it close behind him. “I never meant to hurt you, I swear,” he confesses. “I feel like an asshole. What I said at the tower…”

She shakes her head. Her arms cross to cover herself, but it’s not enough. “I know what I look like, Bucky. You don’t have to explain anything to me, I’m not stupid.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Stop!”

Bucky holds out the flowers for her to take. “I was so excited to finally gather the strength to tell you how I feel but I ruined it. I didn’t know you were hiding your body, Y/N, and I would never say anything mean like that, or to hurt you.”

She doesn’t take the flowers. “You don’t have to lie.”

The flowers are thrown down without a care, which startles her. She thinks she pissed him off but he’s pulling his shirt over his head and holding out his arms. Where the metal arm met the flesh of his shoulder, a puffy pink line follows. There are scars stemming from it, like scratches that have healed over, but were too deep to heal completely. Despite the serum, there are a myriad of puffed up pink scars all over his chest, some completely faced, while others are noticeable and closer to his metal arm. “I’m the last person that should be making you feel this way,” he says, confidence surging in his voice. “We both suffered. Different scenarios, but we both have a lot of trauma and scarring from what happened to us. And I never meant to make you feel horrible about it. I never once put two and two together. I swear, doll, I thought you were just cold or anemic or something. But your body isn’t anything to be ashamed off, and I cannot stress that enough. I really can’t.”

She looks at him. Not his chest or broad shoulders, but his eyes, that are now rimming with tears. “Steve said you loved me.”

“Not loved. Love. It’s not past tense.”

“I only wore that outfit for you,” she says as loud as she could muster, but it still was barely a whisper. “I thought… I thought you wouldn’t…” She doesn’t know what she’s saying at the moment. Rambling is the way it goes. “You deserve a pretty girl and I’m ruining that.”

“You’re far more than pretty,” he says, stepping forward. “You’re beautiful. You’re sweet and you know a lot about good movies and I like that you toast bagels perfectly and your eyes tear up when you laugh too much and, fuck, you’re the cutest. Every little thing you do. I feel more human around you. I can’t help but to be a better person when I see you, Y/N, and I don’t ever want to know what life feels like without you.”

As the silence sets in, aside from quiet tears, Bucky holds up the bag of clothing. “Let’s go for a swim,” he nearly pleads. “We’ll float in the ocean. Cool off. I’ll tell you how pretty you are when we come up for air.”

“I don’t know how any of this works,” she says suddenly.

“Swimming?”

She shakes her head. “I know how that works. Relationships. If I’m assuming correctly, that is.” Taking the bag from him, she digs for her swimsuit, the one she tried to wear yesterday. “You brought me flowers and I don’t even know the correct response to that, but I really like you, Bucky. I’ll wear the swimsuit if it’ll make you happy.”

“No.” He cups her face with his hands. “Wear the swimsuit if you want to. Not for me. Liking someone is about having support, not about doing everything for their approval.” He smiles, and she doesn’t realize he’s leaning in until his nose bumps against hers. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

They share a kiss (maybe two or three or seven) before changing for an afternoon on the beach. Sand between their toes and salty wind in their hair, they walk towards the edge of the water with their fingers interlocked. She feels naked, almost, wearing her outfit from yesterday. It’s almost as if she has to bite back the shame. It’s going to take a lot of baby steps--they both know this, but it’s okay. For once in her life, she feels as if her scars aren’t in control. No one looks at her or focuses on her. She’s just a normal human being on the beach, holding hands with a guy she really likes.


End file.
